


Federation University: A Modern Star Trek College AU

by myoldlodger



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: Enterprise, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: College AU, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:06:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myoldlodger/pseuds/myoldlodger
Summary: Welcome to Federation University, the modern college AU for various characters in the Star Trek franchise! Here starships and warp cores are replaced by dorms and minifridges, and the trials and tribble-lations of a modern college student (sans current events, of course) are all here. This fanfiction will detail the lives and times of those people throughout Star Trek.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. To Boldly Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's move-in day at Federation University, and Jim Kirk is having troubles finding a dorm called Enterprise.

Jim Kirk had been very attentive on orientation day, he swore, though the seemingly endlessly sprawling campus seemed to prove him otherwise. Still relying on the school-provided map to so much as find his dorm, the Iowan-born twenty-something was having, shall we say, a rough move-in day for certain. It was one thing to lug around his carry-on around what seemed to be an infinity on that hot late summer day, but none of his dorm-mates had answered his pleas in the group chat.

He’d opted for a quad dorm, interestingly. Figured it would be a great friend-making opportunity. Though in the haze of orientation (and the distraction provided by a pretty blonde in a miniskirt) he hadn’t actually met any of these guys yet, and so far they weren’t leaving the best impression.

He didn’t understand why someone would name a dorm hall Enterprise, but you’d think with a name like that the sign would be bigger. 

While pondering this, and squinting into the harsh sunlight, a rubber ball smacked directly into his face.

Immediately on guard, his eyes darted around the sunshiney campus green to see if he could spot who might have just so rudely attacked him, as he was more than ready and willing to throw down at a moment’s notice.

As he did so, however, a small but agile dog raced past him - which, judging by the coloring of it as it whirred by - must have been some kind of beagle. The dog’s mighty maw chomped down on the toy as its tail wagged from side to side like a metronome. 

“Porthos!” A man called out. “Come here, boy!” And a weak, grimace-like smile was shot in Jim’s direction. The man was tall, looked a bit older than a student (a professor perhaps?) though the air he radiated was hardly professor-like. His brown hair was mostly obscured by a baseball cap firmly planted on his head. Proudly displaying the New York Mets despite the current location being about as far away from Long Island as you could possibly get. “Sorry about that, did I hit you?”

“Uh-”

The dog bolted back, proudly displaying the ball in his mouth, but adamantly refusing to let it go. What followed was an awkward silence permeated by murmurs of ‘cough it up, cough it up’ - and once the beagle relinquished its prize, the man turned his head back to the student. “You must be a student. This your first year?”

“Of college?”

There was a brief silence. “Yeah… of college.” 

“Right.” Jim snapped his fingers, lips perking into a little smirk. “First year. The name’s Kirk. James Kirk.”

“Well-” The man said with a grunt, standing back up after having been knelt in the grass for a bit. “I wish you luck. I know I was way nervous my first year too.”

“Well, I hate to bother you, Professor, but it seems I can’t-”

“Oh, actually it’s President. President Archer. I’m head of staff here at Federation U.”

This caused James pause. The Campus President was playing fetch on the green?

Another pause. “Something wrong?” Archer asked, expression no where near the sort of judgemental aura Jim had come to expect from the head of staff of a highly reputable university.

“I’m looking for a dorm. They call it Enterprise, don’t they? Now, that’s a funny name for a dorm hall, don’t you think?”

Archer nodded lightly, before shrugging his shoulders. By now, Porthos was rolling about in the grass. “Sure. But I think one day you’re going to come to like that name. I know I did.”

“Was that your dorm too?”

“Oh yeah. I spent the best four years of my life in Enterprise. And the worst. Lots of good memories there. You know, when I was staying there, it’d just opened. We were like it’s maiden voyage, those first years and me.”

“I sure hope I’ll learn to appreciate it as much as you did, but uh- President Archer, I still was wondering if you could point me in the right direction. This map’s all wrong.”

“Oh yeah!” Wistful sentimentality thrown out the window, he pointed to a modern looking building in the middle distance, ENTERPRISE written in large, silver lettering. “That’s the one. That’s home.”

\--

Meanwhile, in front of the building called ENTERPRISE a small family has stopped their moving efforts to take copious amounts of pictures. A woman with a digital camera has directed her son to stand in front of what was about to be his future home. “Spock,” She says, “This is your first day of college! Aren’t you excited?”

Her son, presumably, in question, remained with a neutral expression. Eyebrows slightly furrowed, lips in a thin line. 

It was quite a scene. A son, backpack one strap on, with a completely funeralesque expression on his face, as his mother held her camera up to take the grimmest pictures one could imagine. There was a sister, too, a bit older seeming, who seemed to be observing some signage before saying, “You could stand to crack a smile, you know.”

The younger sibling’s eyes rolled indignantly, before flashing a somewhat awkward smile. The way it seemed to come unnaturally to him almost seemed measured.

The mother snapped the photo quickly, before sighing wistfully, “I wish your father was here to see this.”

“You know when you phrase it like that,” The daughter said, peeking over her mother’s shoulder to look at the photo, “You make it sound like he’s dead.”

“He is dead to me.” The son replied, though he was not addressed.

The mother sighed, lowering the camera. “I’m sure he’ll be very impressed when he sees these photos. Our youngest is finally a college man.”

“Impressed,” The son replied, “but not happy.”

“He’ll be happy too.”

“I will be the one who is impressed, if that is the case.”

The daughter, sensing a conversation (trademarked) coming on, immediately cut in. “You’ve probably got to start unpacking your things, Spock. We should leave you to it.” But before she headed back to the car, she gave him a brief hug. “Just give me a call if you need anything, alright?”

“Understood.”

The mother too gave her soon a brief hug, before sighing softly, and saying, “You’re going to do wonderfully.” Before parting ways with him, and both women turning to leave to the car, and in the next minute they had entered it and driven away. 

\--

At this point there was only one of the four roommates who had actually reached the dorm, and glancing upon the bare essentials thoroughly cleaned and left out for the next residents to make this house a home, he knew he had a lot of work to do. So, the first move he made was gently setting down a framed embroidery which read in quaint cross-stitch ‘Home Sweet Home’ onto the counter. The Enterprise dorm hall consisted of several multi-student dorms which were essentially apartments, so they had a nice, if not barren, little kitchen to themselves.

The door creaked open and a low whistle rang through the mostly empty dorm. 

Jim had finally found his way to his dorm, and he was impressed by the size of it. Were all student living spaces this big? It must have been the perks to choosing a quad, or something to do with narrative inconvenience. “Nice place.” He commented, having realized there was someone else here immediately. 

The other student jumped slightly, before whipping around to look at his roommate with a sour expression. “Warn me next time, will you?”

Jim met his roommate’s sour expression with a smug grin. “Pleasure to meet you to, uh…”

“Leonard.” 

“Leonard…” Jim shook his roommate’s hand firmly. “My name’s Jim. Jim Kirk.” 

“And it’s a pleasure to meet you too, Jim Kirk.” There was a weird little emphasis on both of those names as he said them, almost like he was making fun of him, though he had absolutely no reason to do so. 

“I see you’ve already started decorating.”

“Well,” Leonard said, hands on his hips as he observed his interior decorating skills. “It’s not much. I’m afraid the wife didn’t leave me much but my bones in the divorce.”

Jim laughed before realizing very quickly that he was serious. “How- how old are you, exactly?”

“Twenty-five.”

“And you’re already divorced?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And you went to college… after you were divorced.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Right. Well, Bones-” And he smacked his shoulder as he did so, “Let’s hope you have better luck with me than your ex-wife.” Wink.

\-- 

Spock slowly made his way down the asphalt path which lead to the entrance of the Enterprise Building, before he heard the noise of a heavy sounding vehicle roll up behind him. Swiftly turning around, it was a van, a nice one, older model, and after a few minutes of internal commotion, a man busted out of the door, belongings in hand. Lots of boxes. 

Spock glanced back to the dorm building, then to this man, and repeated the motion several times. “Do you… need assistance?”

“Not a problem, laddie,” The man said, face obscured by the boxes. His accent could be identified as Scottish, and rather noticeably so. “I can manage.” 

“If you’re certain-” 

“Trust me, I can manage.” When he hauled past Spock, his form became a little more clearer. He was wearing a red t-shirt, his hair was black, his hands were rough and calloused, but that was about all he could ascertain from the angle he was seeing him in. Spock decided to walk alongside him, just in case he toppled over or something.

“Montgomery Scott.” The man said, now having identified himself, as they walked. “But you can call me Scotty. And you?”

“Spock.” Spock replied, short and concise.

“That’s a funny name you’ve got there, Mr. Spock.”

“Perhaps it is your name that is funny.”

“You’ve got me there.”

“Montgomery Scott is the name of one of my roommates. You didn’t recognize my name from the email?”

“I’ll be honest with you, I’ve not looked at any of the emails. Haven’t had the internet for it since I’ve been living in the van.”

“You… live in the van.”

“Aye. For a couple years now. But not anymore, eh?”

“I suppose not.”

“You’re not the talkative sort, are you?”

“...I suppose not.”

\-- 

Somewhere in the halls, Spock had taken one of the boxes from Scotty’s arms, as he was convinced that his roommate would - as they say - ‘eat shit’ on the way to the dorm, since the elevator was clogged with other students moving in, and they had to take the stairs. Scotty appreciated the gesture, and it was rough going for awhile there, but they finally made it to their floor… which also happened to be the top floor. With a huff, Scotty lowered the boxes onto the floor outside of what Spock had identified to be their dorm, as several other individuals were filing through the hallways. 

A conversation was overheard. 

“Извините, пожалуйста!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Excuse me, please!” A young man with moppy brown hair was conversing with a slightly taller young man, dark hair and holding a large potted plant, as they were in front of the dorm directly across from what would soon be known as the quad shared by Kirk, Spock, Bones, and Scotty. “Are you my roommate? Hikaru Sulu?” He had a very thick Russian accent. 

“That’s me, yes. You’re… Pavel Chekov, obviously.” The accent and the name just kind of meshed together. It made perfect sense.

The two twenty-somethings seemed to be hitting it off very well rather quickly, but they had congested the entire hallway by conveniently standing right in the middle of it.

“Excuse me, boys.” A young woman said, worming between them with her matching red satchel and carry-ons. “Wide load coming through.” Two other girls, both blonde, were carrying their own things, and a lot of things as well. “Somebody took all of the carts.” The woman then stopped, and the other two girls practically piled onto each other. “Oh, hey Hikaru! Small world!” Her smile was fond. They knew each other.

“Nyota!” Hikaru smiled right back. “What a coincidence that we’d be on the same floor!” 

“We’re right down the hall. We’ve got a triple. Me, uh…”

“Christine.” One woman said with an exasperated huff. 

“Janice.” The other said, face currently obscured by the leaves of Hikaru’s potted plant.

“Christine and Janice.” Nyota continued. “They’re my roommates.”

“Can we please get through?” Christine asked. 

“Oh, sorry- talk to you later, Hikaru!”

“Farewell, Nyota!” Hikaru said goodbye with a wave. 

After the commotion was mostly over, Spock and Scotty were able to open the door to the quad, heaving together most of Scotty’s belongings, the rest he’d have to get later. “You didn’t bring much, did you?” Scotty noted that Spock only had the one backpack. 

“There was not much that I saw worth taking.” 

Scotty decided not to dig too deeply into that. He understood the feeling. “Bonnie lass, that Nyota, don’t you think?”

Spock paused, considering this for a moment. “I suppose she does have attributes that I imagine someone would consider attractive, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Well, you don’t have to make it sound so clinical! You’re not much of a ladies man, are you Mr. Spock?”

Spock realized then that the two of them were face to face with their other two roommates, and upon glancing slowly over the both of them, he said, “No. I suppose I’m not.”


	2. The Space That We Share

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim, Spock, Bones, and Scotty, get used to dorm life in their new college, but find that getting used to each other might be the more difficult task.

They had practically taped a line on the floorboards the second they'd all met each other. You could barely hear the laugh track ghosting the walls as 'my side' and 'your side' was drawn as if in sand, indicated by it's on the bedroom doors. 

No one could recall after that day what exactly was said first that made two of them so at odds with each other, but the recollection of the event would be drunk down with fondness. But not today. Not yet.

They had to figure out who was going to bunk with who, each bedroom with two single beds, desks, drawers, bookshelves, closets; identical, pristine, and untouched. After much debate, Bones (as Jim said he ought to be called) insisted him and Jim share, because he already couldn't stand the icy cold shoulder that Spock was giving him. This left Spock with Scotty (as Scotty said he ought to be called), which was an arrangement he found agreeable. By his estimation, Scotty was harmless, and didn't fuss over details. In Spock's own words, he was 'reasonable' - and he was, and that was that. The other two had hit it off early on, but Jim could already sense being the mediator of the group. He always fancied himself a natural-born leader.

As Jim unpacked his things onto his side of the Bones-Kirk domicile, he noticed several names etched into the corner of his desk. The first name was written in friendly, practiced letters, like the typeface of a comic book. Jon. Then, a little further down, was the name Chris, this time in sharp, uppercase letters. He ran his hands over the carving thoughtfully. Who were they? There was no other evidence left on the scene of the crime. He presumed whoever Jon was, he had started something of a tradition. Whoever sat in this desk, they should carve their name in. Though, also by his estimation, only Jon and Chris had played along. It was an old desk. Biting his lip, contemplating the grave implications of defacing school property, he flicked the knife he kept in his pocket and in his own homely handwriting, joined Jon and Chris in the desk. Jim. And in a moment the knife was flicked back, and hidden in his pocket. 

“That Spock’s a real piece of work.” Bones said, grumbling to himself, as he slipped his textbooks onto his bookshelf, though the highest shelf was annoyingly a bit too far for him to reach. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jim replied, a fond smile, as he hopped onto the still bare mattress of his bed. “He seems like he’s going to be a very… interesting companion.”

“Interesting’s one way to put it. What right does he have to tell me that I’m overreacting?” He said this with a sour expression, maybe a little teary-eyed.

“Well, you are kind of overreacting. All he said was-”

“Maybe I am! But I’m sure glad I’m not the one who has to share a room with him for the next year. Bad enough that I have to share a dorm.”

“I’m sure Scotty is doing just fine.”

\--

“Nine o’clock!?”

“Eight, preferably.” 

“You mean to tell me that you expect me to be asleep at nine o’clock?” Scotty was clearly in a bit of distress on this end, as the later end of the afternoon was closing in, and Spock’s preferred bedtime was far too early for Scotty’s tastes. “How’s a man supposed to get anything done before nine?”

“You do not have to be asleep by nine. I simply request that you keep quiet.” Spock was unloading his few leftover belongings onto his desk. A few books, stationary, and a single framed photograph. He considered it, before setting it on the desk.

It was quite the contrast to Scotty’s side of the room. All sorts of knick knacks and whatsits already strewn about as if he already lived here. Books, stationary, several framed photographs all in a line on the desk (though they all appeared to be of vintage motor vehicles), some tools here, some various technological what-have-yous there, lots of of things that smelled of metal and dirt and new-car-smell and robotics team tournaments, and a Rubik’s Cube which he immediately began scrambling as soon as he got his hands on it. Awfully tactile, considering. 

Spock observed the hands whiz in a quick motion, and there was a detail he could not help but notice, and he pondered for a long time in silence whether it would be rude to mention or not. Eventually, he declared as if he expected Scotty to be unaware of the fact, in a level tone, “You are missing a finger.”

Scotty immediately stopped what he was doing, and considered his hand with a faux-amazed expression, wiggling the fingers on his right hand, the middle finger missing from it. “Really? I must have misplaced it!”

“It was just an observation.”

Scotty chuckled fondly, turning the cube over in his hands. “You know you can just ask me about it. No need to go pretending that you’re not curious.”

“I’m not curious. It was just an observation.” 

Scotty leaned all that more closer to Spock, a grin spreading across his face. “But you’d really like to know, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. I would like to know.”

\--

Several hours passed in the space they shared. During that time, Jim and Bones had really been hitting it off. 

On the other side of the wall, soft music filled the room. The two men, by now, had both made their beds, and were tossing a football between them. It was signed, and belonged to Jim, and it was rough around the edges.

Bones’ laptop, a sort of dilapidated old model, was opened to Spotify.

“Country roads…”

“Take me home…” 

“To the place…”

“I belong…”

And Bones, designated to heartfully singing ‘West Virginia’ chucked the football back towards his roommate, but Jim’s hand was in the air, but he wasn’t looking anymore, and the ball collided directly with his face. 

“Ow. Shit.” The football ricocheted off of his nose and to the floor, and Bones’ motion as he looked over to see what kind of damage he did was quick enough he basically fell out of his bed, but scrambled up immediately. 

“C’mere. Let me look.” 

Okay, so maybe James T. fucking Kirk was a little taken aback when his roommate of five hours was already gripping his face with oddly delicate hands, to turn him around a few times, nose scrunched as he used his thumb to wipe a little bit of blood which was now dribbling down Jim’s face. 

Sigh. “Tilt your head back. I’ll get you somethin’ for it.”

“You know, a ‘sorry’ would be nice.”

“I’ll be right back.”

With a huff, the strode to their little common area, and seeing the couch directly visible from where he stood, he saw Scotty looking like he’d just been sent to sleep in the dog house. It must have been nine.

Scotty waved with one hand, a bottle of something in the other. “Hello! Care to join me?”

“I’m looking for tissues. Got any?” 

Scotty shook his head solemnly. “Afraid not.” And took a nice long swig of whatever he was drinking. 

Bones rolled his eyes and began searching the kitchen for some kind of implement to stop Jim from bleeding on the bedsheets. Finding nothing, he wandered back to the couch, putting his hands on the back of it and leaning so he could see what Scotty was… was that a TV? The dorms didn’t come with a TV. It was a pretty beaten up little thing, still had rabbit years and everything. 

“Whatcha watching?” 

“Dunno.” Another swig.

Bones eyed the bottle suspiciously, and swiped it right out of his hands. Observing the label, grumbling to himself, he handed it back to Scotty’s little grabby hands. “Don’t go overboard with the stuff.”

“And what are you, my doctor?”

“Well, no but-”

“Ohhh. Aye. I get it. Must be the med student in you. Don’t you worry, Bonesie.” He gently patted his roommate’s cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

Jim peeked through the door into the living room. “You find anything?” He gave Scotty a little wave. Scotty waved back. 

“Nothing. Is it still bleeding?”

“Little bit.”

Scotty thought this was very funny. “First day and you’ve already broken the man’s nose.”

“I didn’t break it. Just didn’t want him bleeding everywhere.”

“First you’re all worried about Jimmy there, then you’re confiscating my drink. I’m thinking of a phrase you Americans use.” Scotty mused, finger to his chin contemplatively. “Ah. Worrywart.”

“I am not a-”

“No need to deny it.” He patted Bones again, this time on the chest, before scooting up into a sitting position. “It looks to me like Jimmy there is just fine, though. Why don’t the two of you join me.”

The three men were not so much of a team yet, but once James had determined his nose had stopped bleeding, the three of them had become some kind of triumvirate, all together on that couch. Scotty only managed about three fourths of the bottle, before falling asleep on that couch (body unceremoniously flung against his roommates, no doubt), and the other two stayed there with him for a good long while, enjoying the television program neither of them could identify through the fuzz. 

At some point, one of the bedroom doors creaked open, and Spock observed from afar the three of them, seemingly having a good time, before closing the door again, and heading back to his textbook. He didn’t go to bed at nine at all.

When Jim and Bones decided they were tired, the TV went off, and the bottle was set on the kitchen counter, and Bones took one of his blankets and draped it over the sleeping lump on the sofa, snoring softly. 

It was one night, sure, but this space that they shared was almost starting to feel like home. Almost.


	3. To Teach His Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The students of Federation University are becoming swiftly acquainted with the idiosyncrasies of the staff here on campus.

Jim’s brother, Sam, had told him that the first week of college was sort of a freebie. Nobody knew what they were doing, where they were supposed to be going, or what was even happening. Chances were, even the professors would be too busy figuring out your name to assign anything. 

Sam was wrong.

Each Professor had their own ways of approaching things, of course. 

Intro to Military History was a class which meant a general social studies credit, and played into Jim’s keen interest in historic heroes and weapons that went pew pew, but the course was meant for History majors meant to pursue History degrees, and it was intended for students with heavier workloads in mind. Of course, Jim’s student advisor had pretty much begged on their hands and knees for him to take literally anything into consideration when he was making his schedule. But Sam’s words echoing in his mind, he ended up in a room of students with textbooks in day one, three-ring binders already locked and loaded, and a professor who took just long enough to arrive at the beginning of class so Jim could ascertain the exact level of screwed he was going to be. But he was no quitter. 

When the Professor did show up, he didn’t seem like too much of a threat. And with a musical name like ‘Reed’ maybe just maybe he was going to be easy-going. Though, the handwriting was nice, curvy letters on the whiteboard… Professor Malcolm Reed.

The british accent was a surprise. 

“Now, before we get to introductions,” Professor Reed began, turning to class and clasping his hands together as he spoke, “There should be a syllabus being passed around. Look it over when you have the chance.”

And as if God intended it, the take-one-and-pass-it-on pile fell right into Jim’s hands. 

9/5 - Introduction to Global Military History: 1775 to the Present Day by Jeremy Black - Chapters 1 and 2. Write a paragraph summary.

A sigh of relief escaped the out of place student’s lips. “Oh, that’s not so bad.” He cracked open the textbook… 80 pages. Well, he hoped at least the others were having fun.

\--

Bones didn’t trust this man. No, not at all. Maybe it was the sheer number of skinless, armless, human models on shelves and hanging from the ceiling, gooey things in jars, polished bones on the professor’s desk, (including what was hopefully an ethically acquired human skull), or maybe it was Professor Phlox’s self-proclaimed “winning” smile.

“Just to get it out of the way,” He’d say, jovial expression bordering on unsettling, “Yes, this is all… natural.” Was he referring to the bones or the way his lips curled up in such an unsettling way?

The syllabi were already on the desks before they had arrived.

\--

Meanwhile, Pavel and Nyota had found seats next to each other in one of the many language courses the latter of the two was taking. Though, she could not help but take slight pity on him for being shoehorned into a foreign language required credit when it was evident to her that he may need work on his english first.

“You know, if you think it’s too much to juggle, I can tutor you, if you want. I’m basically already fluent. I’m just here to brush up.” Okay, maybe she was a little proud of herself, but she wasn’t trying to rub it in his face.

“I would like that.” Pavel admitted sheepishly. He coughed, trying to correct the ‘z’ sound which came before ‘that.’

Personally handing out the syllabi herself, Professor Sato approached the two students, and after looking Pavel once over, and seeming to recall his name, greeted amicably with a, “Привет. Вы говорите по-русски?”

To which Pavel replied, “Да!”

And Nyota chimed in with, “я немного говорю по-русски. Привет. Приятно с Вами познакомиться.”

Needless to say, things were going well.

\--

Hikaru got along well with Professor Mayweather, who seemed to be a new recruit, judging by his general tentative nature at the helm of his classroom. 

“My father was a pilot,” Professor Mayweather said, unintentionally withholding the syllabus as he spoke one-on-one with Hikaru before class had even started, the pile of papers still in his hands. “So we really moved around a lot. I guess you could say I was practically raised on an airplane.” 

Another student raised their hand, though they did not need to, and said, “Professor Mayweather, you still haven’t given us our syllabus.”

“Oh yeah…” Mayweather jumped back to action, the pile of paper’s landing into Hikaru’s ready hands, “Geography!”

\--

Now, Scotty had to say he quite admired Professor Tucker’s hands-on way of approaching things. From the very moment the man leaned back in his swivel-chair, syllabi being passed around at the start of class, or the way he said ‘fuck’ at least thrice in his introductory monologue. 

“Anyway, your schedules probably say ‘Professor Charles Tucker’ or something,” He said, southern drawl thick but understandable. “And as future engineers, something tells me we’re all going to be seeing a lot of each other… not a lot of professors in my field on this campus.” And with a red marker he wrote in big, scrawling letters, onto the board, ‘TRIP’ - “So no Professor Tucker here. You all can call me Trip. And today, we’re going outside.”

Yes, Scotty appreciated Trip’s hands-on approach as he basically dragged the small but confident class through maintenance checks on various campus-wide machinery and whatnot. It turned out that Professor Tucker also doubled as apparently the only Facilities handyman on campus. 

A student who Scotty quickly came to know as ‘Miles’ huffed, exasperated, “Something tells me that Professor Trip isn’t exactly the instructor I was hoping for.”

This was going to be a long semester.

\--

Professor T’Pol was agreeable.

After a very calm, quiet, and informative first class, Spock was completely content in the massive workload that came from his introductory Astronomy course (which Spock chose specifically because it was intended for upperclassmen). He had also learned that his Professor was head of the Science Department, and taught a great deal of other science courses. That, and she was unemotional, and did not fuss with details or waste a second of her allotted time, and when the class was over, Spock had many questions for her.

So the two of them exited class side by side, each one of them with their hands behind their backs as they walked, and words and jargon flew by, and when the two of them passed by Jim (who was looking at his syllabus of his second class with a sinking feeling of dread), he could have mistaken the two of them, so similar, to both be from another planet. The same alien species, no doubt.

“So how’d class go?” He skid behind them in an effort to catch up, as the three made their way to the exit of the Science building. 

“It was very informative.” Spock replied, emotionless, with a nod. “That is thanks to Professor T’Pol’s thorough teaching methods.”

T’Pol simply nodded, and the two of them perfectly mimicked each other. 

“You two aren’t related, are you?” Jim questioned with a quirked brow as they pushed through the door. 

“Why would you say that?” Both Spock and T’Pol said, in near perfect unison. 

Shaking his head, Jim walked a bit ahead, right before he was yet again interrupted by an unidentified object flying right towards his face. The rule of comedy was three, right? Before he could even identify it as a baseball, though, it stopped mid air.

Hardly even looking at him, Spock had caught it. Wordlessly, he then tossed the baseball back to the campus green, where a student picked it up. A tall male with a worn bat in his hands.

Another student, slightly shorter female, called out, “Come on, Benjamin! You can do better than that! How about you actually hit it this time?”

“Oh, you’re on, old man.” The aforementioned Benjamin replied with a wide smile. Jim gave the woman a once-over and could not possibly discern why he had called such a lovely lady ‘old man’ - but she didn’t seem to mind.

“I will be in my office.” Professor T’Pol said, and immediately leaving before anyone could even say much as ‘goodbye’ to her.

“What a strange group of people,” Jim said with a smirk as the two continued walking, Spock apparently not paying much attention to what he was saying. “I mean, everyone on this campus seems really…” He snapped his fingers a few times, searching for the correct words. 

“Unique.” Spock suggested. 

“Unique! You just never know who you’re going to run into.”

And just as he said that, another student bumped right into James. He looked to be somewhat distressed, as he looked behind him with a very annoyed expression, before without even apologizing, turned to speak to James. “I just had a very unfortunate encounter.”

The british accent was a surprise.


	4. Farpoint Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean-Luc Picard might be a natural born leader, but he's not willing to admit it. What's worse, is that he has a very unfortunate encounter on the first day of class.

The farthest point on campus on the north end was the English department. It was a formidable brick building with cushy retro beige sofa’d lobbies, and those poetry-slamming twenty-somethings lounging about with their Starbucks plasticware containing too much cream, too much milk, reading the greats (in their opinion), sometimes called it ‘Farpoint’ - because they were pretentious. And Jean-Luc Picard was indubitably one of those kinds of students. He talked just like that.

Some people considered him to be a bit of a pomp, this french guy with a British accent (which he vehemently denied), reading out Shakespeare and tastefully boasting about his impressive schedule. Archaeology, Musical Theory, etcetera, etcetera. It’s not like that was his intention, of course, to come off as someone brash and arrogant and absurdly multi-talented, but he kind of was. And so he naturally clicked into place. It was only the first day of classes, but a little assembly had formed around him at Farpoint, a group of students all pushing through their English Language credits, finding each other in their Creative Writing class, and unwittingly appointing Jean-Luc Picard as their leader.

The study group was a… unique cast of characters.

The conspicuously tall young man who was at Picard’s right was this guy called Will Riker - he had an infectious smile, and a lot of air in his head. He never revealed what his major was, so everyone just assumed he was undeclared. “Anybody play cards?” Instead of sitting down in his seat, his leg was cocked up on it as he said earlier he needed to stretch his legs, but right now he was smoothly shuffling a deck of cards in his hands. And naturally, he was smiling right now. This sort of cocky, lips half-turned little number. He was staring at the girl who sat across from him.

Next to him was Data Soong. Aside from his strange name, that was pretty much the least of what made him stand out. Maybe it was the birdlike twitch to his head as he seemed to be visually processing what others say to him, or his monotonous vocal tone, his seeming inability to use contractions, or the way (even though he appeared to be breathing) he just seemed… kind of inhuman. He didn’t emote much, but he was polite. Hands folded in front of him on the table, textbooks and papers lined around him neatly and efficiently for quick and easy access. Surprisingly, he was allegedly studying music here, evident by the violin case at his feet. But Data was a double major with art and seemingly considering the pursuit of Creative Writing too. Explained why he signed up for the class at least. “Yes. I am skilled in various card-related activities, such as shuffling, sleight of hand, magic tricks, and card games.”

The big guy was called Worf. Worf Rozhenko. The Anthropology major, apparently from Russia, might have come off as surly at first, but the poetry assignment he’d read aloud in the class prior had been both impassioned and oddly sweet - he had a good heart. He just wasn’t the best at showing it. Very blunt, Worf always stuck right to the point. Judging by his pressed expression, he wasn’t exactly in a card playing mood. “This is a study group, He paused, stroking his facial hair contemplatively. “Not a place for games.”

The student who sat across from Will Riker was the ever observant Deanna Troi, who currently rested her elbow on the desk, head in her hand. The other hand was coursing through her voluminous black-brown hair, which kind of took up most of her body mass, honestly. “Afraid you’ll lose, Worf?” Deanna liked to pry into people. No wonder she was a Psychology major. Definitely the kind of girl to pass around personality tests and horoscopes, star charts, and general vibe checks. And she checked often. Somehow, she always knew how everyone around her felt. Call it intuition. “Bev, we’re going to play a game.” She nudged the girl beside her.

Beverly Crusher was already curled into a book - judging by the cover was called ‘The Human Heart’ (light romance novel or medical textbook?) when Deanna addressed her. She had that single-mom-looking-for-a-medical-degree glow. Despite being a similar age to everyone else at the table, Bev already seemed to have her entire life figured out. Down to the very last sip of coffee, which she reached for as she replied. “No thanks. Catching up on… studying.” The redhead chugged about half of her thermos of coffee in one gulp. As she turned the page, the word ‘pulsing’ could be spied upon it. Still didn’t clear things up.

“Uh,” Geordi La Forge sat at the end of the table. Engineering student who this morning had to fix two boilers alone thanks to Professor Tucker’s questionable teaching methods. Not exactly what he had in mind when he moved to San Francisco. Leaning back on his chair so far that it was only on two legs as he held onto the table, tapping his fingers rhythmically to the mechanical hum that manifested all over the building from various internals. And the beeping truck outside. “I’ll pass.” Geordi was blind. That didn’t stop him from doing literally anything, though, except… like, seeing things. Not that he was that pressed about it. But usually playing cards weren’t particularly accommodating. “I’d probably win anyway.”

“Oh!” Will replied immediately, eyes going a little wide as he could almost hit himself with the realization. “Hold on, what if I-” He set down a card - Ace of Spades - and produced a paper clip from his backpack. And, in an attempt to accommodate for his new friend, outlined both the suit and letter on the card so that a bump was formed around, though the indents were not visible from far away. And leaning over the table, arm in the face of Data (who did not respond except with a few blinks) handed the card over with a “Here, try this.”

Geordi had a brief face journey as he fondled the card. “Yeah. That’ll work. But you don’t have to do that, you know. By the time you’re done with all of them, I’ll be headed to my next class.”

“You underestimate me.” Will replied, already set the work. 

“Well, alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“What are we playing anyway?” Bev asked, glancing up from her book as Will backed up and sat into his seat very strangely. Leg over the back, sit down.

“I was thinking poker.” Will didn’t even acknowledge that he just sat down like an idiot. Just moved on. Had he always been sitting like that? Is that what he always did?

Beverly stared at him, dead-eyed for a moment or two, bewildered by that maneuver. Eventually, she asked, “Do you even have poker chips?”

Will promptly unzipped his backpack, and a great deal of rattling was heard. Data curiously leaned over to peek inside, and nodded considerately. “Hm. Among other things, yes, he has poker chips.”

“Do you just keep them loose in there?” Beverly actually put down her book for this.

“Yes,” Data replied in place of Will, who was unloading them onto the table. “He just keeps them loose in there.”

“You playing, Captain?” Will turned his head to Jean-Luc with a wink.

Astonished by the word ‘Captain’ he was taken aback. It caused him to stammer awkwardly for a moment, before questioning it finally by just reiterating the word with an incredulous tone, “Captain?”

“Well, yeah. You’re kind of the leader, aren't you?”

“I don’t know about that. I-” Jean-Luc didn’t like it when people acknowledged the obvious about him. After all, he made so many things so very obvious. “I don’t want to assert myself as the leader. There is no need for there to be a chain of command in a study group.”

“It’s just a thought.”

“You know what?” Not particularly fond of the subject matter, he decided he’d leave these people to their own devices for a bit. “I’m actually going to refill my water bottle, and you all can play your card games.”

“How long does it take to refill a water bottle?”

But alas, Jean-Luc was already on his way out the door, water bottle in hand.

That was, until he bumped into someone. A girl from class he recognized, though she hadn’t been very talkative. Short blonde hair, somewhat sullen face, and the syllabus in her hands. “You’re Jean-Luc Picard from Creative Writing, right? You said something in class about a study group.”

“Natasha Yar.” Jean-Luc replied slowly. “Correct?”

“Just Tasha. Thanks. Can I join?”

“Oh! Why, certainly, however I have a feeling there will not be much writing getting done at the moment.”

“You know, I think it’s very strange for you guys to have a study group for Creative Writing. Isn’t that… not really a class you study for?”

“And yet you wanted to join. It appears that we all wanted to collaborate. Peer review our work before handing it in, if you will. It could be a very beneficial exercise.”

“That’s fair.” She sidestepped out of his way. “I figured it was something like that.” It was a mystery to her fellow student why she chose to say it like that. Why ask to join if she questioned the validity? Why not just ask upfront what the intentions of the group were? Either way, she turned back to him as she stood in the doorway. “By the way, be careful. There’s some weird guy hanging around here, keeps saying something about… the insurmountable sins of humanity? He said his name was Q, which as far as I know, was a letter of the alphabet, not a name. Who knows.” And she entered the classroom without another word. 

Jean-Luc was not pressed about this Q individual, as of right now the hallways seemed relatively barren, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t been in a few tussles in his day. He was still in that stage of his life where a bar brawl wasn’t too out of the question, though in his ignorance of meta knowledge made it so that he was wholly unaware of something like that having even the possibility of occurring. Yet, at the same time, he was also more knowledgeable than, say, potential alternate counterparts of himself. Neither here nor there, of course, because reality was here and now, and he was filling his water bottle in utter silence as he said he would do.

“Thirsty, Jean-Luc?”

The water bottle must have flung itself, because someone as competent as Jean-Luc Picard would simply never throw it when startled. Either way, the water bottle sputtered and spilled on the shiny, polished floor, and the source of the voice stood between Jean-Luc and retrieving it. “Who the hell are you?” his next question would certainly have been ‘How do you know my name?’ if Tasha Yar hadn’t said it out loud just moments earlier.

This individual was taller than Jean-Luc by several inches, and a glance up and down… his looks alone must have answered that question. His hair was wild, fluffy, and brown, half-lidded blue eyes staring down his nose with a certain wise familiarity, and his smile was plastic and sinister. Arms out wide as he presented himself to Picard. He wore a red hoodie, a little frayed at the edges, and a black dress shirt underneath, the buttons gold. By the looks of it, this guy was dressed partially for a formal gathering, partially for whatever class he was supposed to be going to. No doubt skipping. “I am Q.”

“Q.” Jean-Luc repeated with annoyance already simmering deep within him. “What do you want from me?”

“Oh, nothing from you. I’ve got all the information I need from you people.”

“And who, precisely, are ‘you people’?” 

Q did not answer this question, seemingly having quite the flair for dramatics. His foot rested on the water bottle, and he rolled it to Picard, who promptly picked it up, though not once breaking eye contact with this individual. 

“You’re already popular with them, aren’t you?” Q continued, sidestepping around him on his heels and turning to glance towards the classroom they’d chosen for Creative Writing collaborative weird study group. They were playing poker. “Honestly, it’s not surprising. You people always look for a leader. Usually it’s the biggest and strongest who lead the pack, but not you. If I were them, I’d appoint that leggy one, or the one with the beard.” 

“I am not their leader.” He was amazed that no one noticed the two of them staring into the classroom yet. 

“What is it about you that they saw most leader-like? Couldn’t possibly be your physical attributes.” Q spared a sweeping glance up and down, smirking to himself. “It must be your intelligence, then. How wonderfully out of character for your kind.”

“Your kind. Your people. You keep talking to me as if I am another species.”

“Maybe you are.” He slid forward, face close, at first uncomfortably so, but he was observing him, as if studying him, and with a finger he jabbed Picard’s chest and pushed him back lightly. “An entirely different species.”

“Why do you talk about other people like they’re a research project?”

“I never understood humans until now.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Q, but you are a human.”

“Au contraire, mon capitaine. I wouldn’t be so sure.” Why did everyone try to call him ‘Captain’? It was starting to get obnoxious. Then again, everything about this man was obnoxious to him. 

“You’re human. And a delusional one at that. This is honestly quite sad. Wandering the halls with no place to go. Probably skipping classes. Do you often antagonize people? No. Don’t answer me. Tasha already said you do.”

“Believe me, Jean-Luc, I’m not the one who is delusional.” And with that he wandered away from the doorway, and expected Picard to follow. Somehow, he did, if not only because he had a personal interest in making sure this guy didn’t bother anyone. Or maybe he was just captivatingly strange, like some kind of alien.

The two walked through the beige sofa’d lobby and too the railing which separated it from a drop-off. As the building was quite large, it had a bit of a balcony overlooking another lobby and hallways underneath, students going to and fro from class to class, Professors leaving and entering their offices, and Q leaned against the railing, looking at humanity like an ant farm. Sure, Jean-Luc looked down too. But it was clear they were seeing the picture differently. 

“I often look at crowds of people and think - ‘How many of them?’”

“Why don’t you start counting?” This was more of a statement than a question, but nonetheless. 

Q produced a small coin from his pocket, shiny and new and copper colored, a penny, and turned it over in his hand thoughtfully. “I have.” Then a long pause. “You know, I would have thought the realization would have hit you by now. Maybe you’re not as smart as I thought.”

“What realization?” 

“It wouldn’t be a realization if you didn’t come to it yourself. You’ll think of it in due time. And when you do, I’ll be here. Then, the penny will drop.” He flipped the coin, and the penny flew up into the air and landed in the middle of the lobby, unnoticed by the students hurriedly getting to class. 

“This conversation is over.” What? Sue him. He wasn’t exactly buying into Q’s eccentricities and extended metaphors, though that did not stop him from tagging along at Picard’s heels as he walked away. 

“Will you leave me alone?” Picard asked, desperate, as they once again stood in front of the study group door, and this time someone had noticed, though probably could not hear what they were saying as their seemed to be some kind of commotion inside. 

“As you-” Q was about to heed Jean-Luc’s word and make his stylish exit, but there was someone now standing nearly between them. Deanna. 

“Hello,” She greeted quickly, waving at Q (who tentatively waved back, eyebrows raised), “Jean-Luc, are you alright? You were gone for awhile. Though I see you made a friend.” And she smiled at him, though he did not smile back. “Are you from Creative Writing too? We’re having a study group - but really it’s just for brainstorming. None of us are really writers, and we thought it might help. You’re welcome if you want, er…” And she waited for him to say his name.

“Q.” 

Deanna nodded, “That’s an… interesting name. Q. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“I assure you, it is not.” Jean-Luc interjected, not noticing how Q had reacted facially to the invitation. 

Q was backing up now, first slowing, and then with a few quick glances at Deanna, and the group inside, he decided to speed walk away, and to the other two students, it was as though he disappeared. 

“Strange.” Deanna commented, finally noticing. “Do you think he’s alright?” Ever the empath.

“Frankly, I don’t care. I would be happy if I don’t encounter him again.”

\--

After study group was over, Jean-Luc had a class in the Science building, which meant a long trek to the other side of campus, however he did not mind the exercise (it was important to keep sharp, after all), though it could be very bothersome for the rest of the semester. 

Passing by building after building, he expected no incident, until a painfully familiar voice rang… overhead? 

“Good afternoon, Jean-Luc.” Said Q, in an entirely different outfit (this time with a sweater that was red towards the bottom and black at the shoulders), “I’ve come to give you a word of advice.” He was perched atop a tree-branch, somewhat high up, though this did not stop him from swinging his legs and jumping of the branch, landing with no injury, directly in front of the other student. 

“I don’t want your advice.”

“Stay away from the Borg.” Okay, at least this advice was intriguing. 

“Borg?”

“B.O.R.G. Beta Omicron Rho Gamma.” He gestured a finger to one of the buildings nearby, evidently some kind of fraternity by the looks of it, as there were a few students in front doing some kind of chant ‘Join the B.O.R.G.! You will be assimilated! Resistance is futile!’ Most prominently, a blonde woman and a shorter dark-haired man, both students. It seemed almost robotic the way they both spoke, yet hidden under a layer of plasticine enthusiasm. “They’re a co-ed fraternity on campus, and will swallow up your entire band of misfits if you aren’t careful. They don’t discriminate, so long as their numbers grow. I hear the hazing is very… dehumanizing.”

“Thanks.” Frankly, Picard didn’t care. He hadn’t planned on joining any kind of fraternity, and certainly not one with such aggressive recruitment tactics. He was already walking away.

But Q followed, hand now on Jean-Luc’s arm, and face near his ear. “I’d be really careful if I were you. You’re exactly the kind of influence they need to take the whole school with them. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With a grunt, Q was (honestly rather roughly) shoved away, and Jean-Luc Picard continued on his little walk, up to the Science building, and it was there he bumped into another student. It was quick, and purely by accident, and he didn’t even know why he said what he said, but he did. 

“I just had a very unfortunate encounter.”

The student he bumped into blinked a few times absentmindedly. “...Neat. I’m going to go to lunch.”

“Right. I apologize.”

“No problem!” And as the two parted, he turned back to his friend with a smile, and said, “See what I mean? Unique!”


	5. Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Federation University is a place with many first impressions, and as the students and staff get acquainted with each other, the first day of classes comes to a close.

The cafeteria in the student center was bustling with activity, as it always was, on that day. Old friends finding their seats with one another, and new ones meeting for the very first time. It was a warm, sunny atmosphere, with tall windows allowing natural light to flood in and dance on the dust in the air. The aroma was often that of steamed meat simmering in the kitchen (hidden by a port in the wall where you would drop off your plates and silverware when you were done eating), or maybe friend food, or slightly off fruit or salad in wheeling cards. Clankling glasses, clanking forks and spoons, a low rumble of chattering constant in the room. From an unknown location, music plays from a tinny radio, barely audible over the talking. But playing all the same.

The school’s resident (self-proclaimed professional) chef, a hair sort of man with a kind smile, named Neelix, always insisted that the campus radio play in his cafeteria. 

It was something that the whole campus shared, that radio. It played most hours of the day, hosted and announced by a mysterious unknown man. There were various rumors spread on just who he could be - wild theories, everyone from President Archer to the janitor, but all anyone knew was the stage name he intro’d and outro’d himself with every day. 

“Good afternoon, Federation U!” The voice rang out enthusiastically. “The sun is shining on this beautiful late-summer day as we are all hopefully getting settled into our new living arrangements, or, if you’re like me, getting right on back to the same place you were last spring. But I’m sure the new students don’t know who I am, so let’s all go around in a circle and tell each other our names, majors, and one fun fact about ourselves… just kidding! I wouldn’t do that to you. Now, you better get used to my voice, freshies, because this is your new favorite radio host, Doc Hologram, and you’re listening to the greatest hits from the 70s, 80s, 90s, and today - this next number is a hit from way back in 1970… The Kinks with ‘Strangers’ - we are not two we are one.”

Where are you going I don't mind  
I've killed my world and I've killed my time...

Somewhere, nestled in the same building, Ten steps Forward from the entrance, was Ten Forward. A small cafe that was owned and ran by friend-of-the-President Guinan, an intuitive woman who always seemed to know what you were going to order. Today, as the coffee beans roasted and the fresh-baked pastries laid out behind glass, she perked her head up to hear what Doc Hologram had in the line-up today. As she did so, the door chimed as it swung open.

It was a student, evident by the laptop case and the sweater vest and the way his hands wrung nervously as he approached, brows seemingly permanently knitted into a forever anxiety-ridden expression. After much fretting, he was at the counter. “I’d- I’d um… I’d like…”

A girl had wandered behind him somewhere during his several second panic session, a cross looking brunette, nose slightly crinkled, one dangly earring revealed by carefully parted hair, and an earbud in the other ear. “Hurry up, will you?”

So where do I go what do I see  
I see many people coming after me…

The first student jumped as she spoke, and quickly blurted out to Guinan, the shopkeep, “Milk. Milk please. Just milk? Is that- can you do that? And a muffin. Blueberry.”

Guinan chuckled. “Blueberry muffin and milk. Can I see your student ID? Unless you want to pay upfront.”

He handed her the ID swiftly. 

Eyeing it as she rang him up, she mused, “Reginald Barclay. You prefer Reginald or Reggie?”

“Reg. Reg is fine.”

And within moments she handed him his blueberry muffin and milk, which caused him to dodge away instantly without taking his ID back.

So where are you going to I don't mind  
If I live too long I'm afraid I'll die…

“Hand this to him when you go by, will you?” Guinan asked the girl behind him, who rolled her eyes, but begrudgingly agreed. It’s not like he went far. Just the table in the back.

“Ro Laren.” Guinan said to her as she eyed the girl’s ID, as the process had been repeated. “Can I call you ‘Ro’?”

“Laren is my given name.” The student replied curtly. “Ro is my surname.” It looked as though she was very much not here for small talk. “One black coffee.” A brief pause. “Please.”

“One black coffee.”

So I will follow you wherever you go  
If your offered hand is still open to me…

As Laren made her exit from the coffee shop, she threw Reg’s ID to him without a word. She didn’t hear his stammering ‘Th- thank you!’ as she walked out the door with her one black coffee.

Strangers on this road we are on  
We are not two we are one.

Meanwhile, Quark’s Bar wasn’t as idyllic of an establishment. Some might call the bright, neon lighting and the arcade machines, pool tables, faint smell of fancy alcohols from all over the world, and the general ruckus of the establishment ‘offensive’ or maybe ‘overwhelming’ but you had to hand it to the owner, it certainly lived up to the reputation. The owner was the bartender, his brother the waiter, and a sweetheart they’d just met named ‘Leeta’ working the ticket booth for all the party favors and candy that patrons might win in the arcade. It was all a pulsating, electric-throbbing contrast to the calm and peaceful arrangement at Ten Forward. But somehow, they’d managed to be just as popular. 

And with popularity came suspicion, namely from Campus Security Odo, who today entered Quark’s Bar with his hands neatly folded behind his back, and a sour expression on his face. With perfectly straight posture and an aura of authority wafting from him in all directions, if it were any other establishment they might have turned their heads. But not at Quark’s. No. Not at Quark’s.

So you've been where I've just come  
From the land that brings losers on…

“Oh, you little-” Feisty, reddish-haired patron number one, slammed her hands against the table, as she leaned up against the table, smug-faced man (definitely a student, also reddish-haired but in a different sort of way), grinned back at her as she scrunched her nose. “I could play you under the table and you know it.”

“Hey now, hey now, temper, temper. All I’m saying is that so far I’ve never lost.” As she leaned forward, he did too, and this motion was met with the other one of them to throw her hands up in exasperation.

“Ugh! Fine- fine. You know what? You’re on, pipsqueak. You. Me. Pool. Now.”

So we will share this road we walk  
And mind our mouths and beware our talk...

So, the two of them were at the pool table, and the male student extended his hand, “Tom Paris. I go to Federation U.”

With a heavy sigh, the female student shook it like a formal gesture she greatly didn’t want to be taking apart of. “Kira Nerys. Nerys is the given name, Kira’s the surname. Time to put your money where your mouth is, Paris.”

'Till peace we find tell you what I'll do  
All the things that I own I will share with you…

Somewhere, at one of the tables, two Federation U attendees sat together (but not together-together, you know?) and the younger of the two, dark eyes suddenly going a bit wide at the name. “Tom Paris? Paris- why does that name sound familiar?” His student ID was on the table in front of him. ‘Harry Kim’ it read.

The girl he was sitting with propped her feet on one of the other chairs around her, and scoffed. “I don’t know, but my money’s on the girl.” Her ID was placed next to his. ‘B’Elanna Torres’ it read. 

“Money? You mean, you want to bet on it?”

“No.” B’Elanna replied, but considered it for a moment. “Actually, you know what. Let’s bet on it.” And she already started fishing money out of her pocket. 

And, if I feel tomorrow, like, I feel today  
We'll take what we want and give the rest away...

Meanwhile, at the bar, Odo stared down the much-shorter-than-him bartender. “Hmph.” He had an eagle eye, and he heard everything. “They’re gambling, Quark.”

“They’re not gambling!” Quark quickly replied, nearly dropping the glass he was cleaning. “Right? We’re not gambling here are we?” This was met with a chorus of ‘no’ from the various patrons who were all slamming money down on the table, about half for Nerys, about half for Tom. 

Odo didn’t believe it for a second, but he had other matters to attend to, as his pager buzzed in his pocket. He wasted a lot of that precious time in the neon nightmare of Quark’s, and it bordered less on investigation and more personal interest. “I’ll be back later.”

As Odo left, Leeta swung her arm over Quark’s shoulder and with a lightly teasing voice whispered into the bartender’s prominent ear, “You know, with all the time he spends here, you think he’d have some kind of crush on you.” Then, a giggle as she pulled away. 

Little did Leeta know, just a few feet behind her, the waiter was setting up drinks which had been ordered by the more macho of the pool-players (which one was that?), he sighed dreamily at the new ticket-lady across the way. Some kind of crush.

A chorus of voices erupted in the bar. Half of them chanting ‘Paris! Paris! Paris!’ and the other half chanting ‘Kira! Kira! Kira!’

Strangers on this road we are on  
We are not two we are one.

And so the cafeteria bustled with life as Spock and Jim finally made it to lunch, although it was well into the afternoon at that point, as lines of students filed up and Chef Neelix piled diet-compliant food onto each student’s plate, though most were just picking from the other steaming food kiosks - or whatever the word was for those things. 

“Hamburger, please.” Jim said, eyeing the row of already-made burgers behind the glass, and one was on his plate with a smile. 

“Bone appetite!” Chef Neelix would say every time. Just like that. Nobody had the heart to tell him he was saying it wrong.

And with the burger on his plate, Jim turned to go pile on some sides when he stopped in his tracks, this time having the coordination not to actually bump into the person he was about to bump into. He was learning.

The person he nearly bumped into was a slightly taller student wearing a yellow sweater, and a singular eyebrow quirked upwards as he looked down at the two of them.

Holy man and holy priest  
This love of life makes me weak at my knees...

“Excuse me, uh-” That move there, sly little attempt to weasel a name about everyone he met. That’s how you make friends, right?

There was a long pause. “Tuvok.”

“Jim.” He extended his hand for a shake, but this Tuvok fellow just stared at it for a moment, looked up, and gave a funny little wave. 

Spock seemed to understand what the gesture indicated, or at the very least knew what Tuvok had intended by it, and waved right back. “Spock.”

“Now, we’re probably holding up the line.” Jim said as the unlikely trio wormed their way around the other students and faculty getting food. Jim could identify the food on neither Spock or Tuvok’s plates, and he did indeed keep looking in between them. Much like Professor T’Pol, all of them had a very similar… strange energy about them. Of course, Jim and Spock were roommates, but he’d only known him for a day, and although he didn’t think much more of it than that, the notion would strike him time to time. Maybe they were all related or something.

And when we get there make your play  
'Cos soon I feel you're gonna carry us away...

But Tuvok parted from them as quickly as he had entered there lives, wholly prepared to go eat his lunch alone, unaware of the twist of fate which brought his measured footsteps away from tables in that cafeteria.

In another life, would he have sat next to her? The woman with the coffee cup in her hand, laptop on table, desktop background of a puppy, as she looked determined into a text document she typed in more than she drank from the now cold liquid. 100% Hawaiian Kona Beans. Caffeine coursing through her veins.

In a promised lie you made us believe  
For many men there is so much grief...

Would he have sat next to him? Just another table away, another student sits alone, this time a man, with a tattoo just above his eye, and his head craned down at his textbook, but he has been eating his lunch more than he had been turning the pages. He was drinking coffee too. They were drinking the same brew. For some reason, who knows what, he looked up.

The two of them shared a glance. 

But Tuvok didn’t sit with either of them, and instead went to the back with his plate and his water, and he sat alone, because that was how he liked to eat. Alone. 

And my mind is proud but it aches with rage  
And, if I live too long I'm afraid I'll die...

But sometimes you don’t need to think of hypothetical other lives to make those happenstance connections, those interpersonal relationships both platonic and not. Sometimes rainbow connections happened without even trying. Or on accident. Maybe tropey. Maybe subverted. But either way, all kinds of lucky.

For instance, a young medical student glances along the cafeteria. He’s playing roulette in his mind, randomizing who he’s going to make a meaningful connection with today. Maybe, just maybe, he’s going to make a friend. 

“I’m Julian.” He said, sliding into the seat across from a short-haired young woman with a psychology textbook at her fingertips. 

“Julian?” She questioned, eyebrow raising, then looking him up and down. “As in Julian Bashir? My sister, Jadzia, mentioned you. Ezri, by the way.”

Suddenly feeling the mortal terror of being recognized, and worried Jadzia had put in a bad word, he quickly said, “Now, excuse me, I-” And looked about, scanning for someone he recognized. There was his roommate, drinking coffee in the afternoon as well, alone at a table.

Strangers on this road we are on  
We are not two we are one.

The move to pull Miles apart from his seat was both incredibly quick and the longest verse of their lives, as Julian brought his poor, world-weary roommate over to say ‘hi’ - and mostly for moral support. “Why don’t you sit with us?”

Miles groaned rather loudly. Oh, their little rainbow connection had brought them to the same dorm, and oh was he regretting not signing up for a single. “Pleasure to meet you.” He greeted with a fake smile which immediately turned into an annoyed expression as soon as either of them slightly glanced away. But he was standing in the luckiest place of all.

What he didn’t know was that two other students were pulling a cart through the cafeteria, it was holding a large array of potted plants. One of the students, Data Soong (who had just come back from study group to help his friend distribute the plants (they were going to be used to decorate various places around campus), and the other a hopeful future science teacher named Keiko Ishikawa. 

Data’s monotonous ‘Excuse me’ came a little too late, as the wheel ran right over Miles’ foot, and a loud ‘yeowtch!’ echoed through the place, causing a slight lull in conversation (before it immediately picked up again). 

“I’m sorry!” Keiko exclaimed, pushing the cart away a bit to grab the arm of the man she’d just ran the toes over, in the process pushing Data back a bit (he didn’t seem to mind).

“Oh, I’m just-” At first his teeth were gritted with anger, but when his eyes glanced over Keiko’s… there was pause in his voice. “...Miles. I’m Miles.” 

“Keiko.”

Data quirked his head to the side, trying to ascertain the nature of the look in their eyes.

Strangers on this road we are on  
We are not two we are one.

And in all of those places, among all of those strangers, the voice of Doc Hologram rang through campus. “That was ‘Strangers’ by the Kinks! Next up is a message from our very own Beta Omicron Rho Gamma - get ready for the B-B- B- B.O.R.G.!”

Click.

In the school’s infirmary, the man everyone just called ‘Doctor’ sighed with dismay, his colorful persona immediately dripping away as he clicked on the commercial break, and his voice no longer being picked up by campus wide speakers. No one noticed that Doc Hologram had his voice - why would they? All he did was hang around the infirmary all day, waiting for somebody to bring something exciting. And nobody ever said ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’ - but did anybody ever wonder if Doc Hologram wanted a friend?

There were a lot of strangers on that campus, but some were growing a little less strange. 

He didn’t realize a woman was standing right in front of his desk, yellow pixie-cut and a turtleneck, a somewhat curious expression on her face. “Wait,” She began, gesturing with one finger and waving it accusingly, “You’re Doc Hologram?”

He nearly threw the pen he’d been holding! “You-” Scrambling to his feet, he pointed his finger at her in turn. “Don’t tell anybody about this!”

“I won’t! I actually think it’s sort of cool. You putting yourself out there like that. It’s very brave, even if you don’t let anyone know who you are.” And she shrugged her shoulders, smiling at him tentatively.

And from him emitted a heavy sigh, as he hung his head for a moment. “Just… state the nature of your medical emergency, please.”

“Oh, no, I’m not here for an appointment. I’m applying for the nursing assistant position? I called in advance. Kes?” 

“Kes! Yes, of course, you were the only applicant- I mean, you were a shoe-in for the position.” Maybe things were starting to look up for Doc Hologram. “How soon can you start?”

They call it ‘first contact’ when you meet an alien species for the first time, and they call it ‘first impressions’ when you meet your a fellow human you’ve never met before. And in these encounters, at Federation University, the unfamiliar faces from day one would, in time, become a little less strange.


End file.
